


May 2nd

by allstoriesintheend



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Next Generation, Post-Battle of Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:40:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21635989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allstoriesintheend/pseuds/allstoriesintheend
Summary: May 2nd is simultaneously Teddy Lupin's most hated and most loved day of the year.
Relationships: Teddy Lupin/Victoire Weasley
Kudos: 26





	May 2nd

It was simultaneously his worst and favourite day of the year.

* * *

Almost any other day of the year, he would’ve been at the Ministry Of Magic (on time - something he’s managing more often than not these days), making his way to the Auror Department.

Except Teddy Lupin didn’t have to be at work this particular day that he found the worst.

But he did have somewhere else to be.

He’s used to it by now – the gathering of his family, the way sadness seems to sweep over them all even as they’re supposed to be celebrating the day ahead. He’s seen it all his life, had to deal with it all his life. He’s used to people walking past him when the date gets close and getting sympathetic looks that he doesn’t need.

He knows exactly what the day is. He always has. His Gran had told him stories about his mother and father and cried with him. His Uncle Harry had told him how brave his parents had been during the Battle; how his mother had arrived after his father to fight.

He turned the picture over in his hands, smoothing out the corners that were starting to curl in on themselves. The picture didn’t move – it had been taken with an old Muggle camera that had once belonged to his mother. Teddy looked at the unmoving picture, letting an index finger trace over the people contained inside. Even if he closed his eyes, Teddy would still be able to see it perfectly in his mind.

His mother’s bubblegum pink hair. His father’s smile and the faint scars across his face.

It was his favourite picture of his parents. There were several others that he had, ones of both of his parents together and ones of them separate, but the muggle picture had always been his favourite. One that had been tucked under his pillow every single night from when he had found it in his mother’s old things until he had left Hogwarts. One that he carried around with him wherever he went.

“I went down early this morning before everyone else did. I’ll go with Gran again later, but I thought I’d make this year a little different.”

Just as the sun had begun to rise, had been to visit the graves of those who had been lost in the Battle of Hogwarts. He had gone every year, able to find where his parents were by the time he was five. Now he was older, he visited whenever he felt the need to. He spoke to his parents graves as often as he spoke to their pictures, and even if he couldn’t remember hearing their voices, couldn’t remember them – they were kept alive by everything he knew about them. He knew how clumsy his mother had been, a trait he seemed to have inherited; he knew all about his father’s sense of humour. There was so much he knew about them that sometimes it was almost like they were there.

“Gran said that you’d both be proud of me. I’d like to think the same.”

Teddy took one last look at the picture, smiling to himself. His Gran said it often. He used to think she said it simply to pacify him, but now that he was older, he knew better. He pocketed the picture, patting the pocket of his leather jacket gently. His hair was still his trademark turquoise, moving gently with the wind that blew. He rose from the park bench that he had been sat on, watching the Muggles wander by and go about their lives. They didn’t know anything about that day – why it was special. Of course they didn’t.

But it wasn’t all about remembrance.

It was a day for celebration too.

* * *

The flat was still as quiet as it had been when he had left in the dark that morning. His coat was thrown over the back of the sofa, his shoes left by the door, and his wand placed on the cabinet beside the bed before he crawled back under the sheets, slipping his arms gently around the sleeping figure that still occupied one side of the bed. He sighed quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Happy birthday, Victoire.”

Like he said.

It was his favourite day of the year too.


End file.
